How Can You Be the Alpha Male When Another Man Is Raising Your Child?

Exploring and exposing the blatant contradictions of toxic masculinity

I’ve been derisively called a “beta” both online and in real life. We live in a society where people who claim they have a mission to defend traditional values are all too eager to criticize your life.

When my grandmother met my daughter for the first time, I was proudly holding my baby in my arms. “My dad would have never held a baby,” she said. I couldn’t tell if this statement was intended as a lament for him or a criticism of me.

“Then I feel bad for him,” I said, “because he missed out on the best part of life.”

People who claim that we must protect the nuclear family are often the first to criticize women for breastfeeding in public. The people who scream loudest about the need to protect families are often the least likely to understand the practical realities of raising children. One of those realities is that babies have to eat.

The whole “alpha vs. beta” argument is one of those things that is only allowed to continue because the so-called “betas” are too polite to call out the “alphas” on their nonsense. If you have a no-holds barred conversation with one of them, you’ll have to bring a towel to wipe up all the alpha tantrum tears.

My cousin Dale was one of those guys who is always covered in guns and compound bows. Every time he sits down at a table, he starts to bore you with tales about all the men he can beat up.

“Okay,” I said once, “how about that guy?”

“What?” Dale replied.

“You said you can beat anyone up, go beat up that guy.”

I didn’t really want Dale to go over and beat up some random stranger. I only suggested it because I knew he wouldn’t. Dale’s all bluster. Dale talks a good game, but he never comes through.

That’s the whole thing about this “alpha” mythology. It’s all talk. It stops being fun when you have to provide any evidence. It’s like claiming you’re a billionaire but refusing to prove it by showing your tax returns.

For a long time, I was content to put up with Dale’s constant derision, but it all came to a head one fateful evening. We were in the middle of a meal, when I got a message from my wife.

“What’s that?”

“My wife just wants to know when I’m going to be home. Hold on a second.”

So, I got up and went outside to call my wife. It only took a few minutes, then I returned to the table. But Dale was smirking.

“She’s got you on a short leash doesn’t she?”

I indicated that I didn’t know what he meant and I asked him to elaborate. Dale just began to chuckle, then he lifted up his beer and muttered, “Beta,” under his breath.

“I’ve heard this word Beta before,” I said. “Can you tell me what it means?”

Dale leaned back and got himself all comfortable. His beer gut spilled off his chair and onto the floor. “Well, I’ll tell you,” he said with a smirk. “A Beta is the kind of man who can’t even go out for a beer with a friend without having his wife call him every five minutes. He’s the kind of guy whose wife makes more than he does. He probably spends all day cleaning the house and making dinner, you know, women’s work.” Dale began to laugh.

I listened to this. “Okay, then how should it be? What’s life like for an Alpha?”

“Oh, an Alpha!” Dale said, as if this was his area of expertise. “An Alpha is a man who is the undisputed head of the household and his wife knows her place. Every night, she has a meal prepared for him. She takes care of the kids and they all respect him as the breadwinner. When he leaves to go hunting or to hang out with the boys, an Alpha’s wife knows better than to pester him.”

I nodded. “So, just so that we’re clear, you’re saying that you’re an Alpha and I’m a Beta.”

He didn’t say yes or no, but he kind of smirked and raised his hands as if the truth were obvious.

“Okay then,” I replied. “You’ve had your say, so now it’s only fair for you to listen to mine. A couple of years ago you got divorced right?”

“That cheating...” he began, but I held up my hands to stop him.

“You talked already, the Beta is talking now.”

“But she cheated...”

“That may be true, but I tend to think for myself. You know, I do my own research. Since your ex-wife isn’t here to defend herself, then it’s unfair for you to speak on her behalf.”

“But...”

“Let’s contain our discussion to the facts, and the fact is that you’re divorced. That, in addition to your assessment, indicates that your wife needed something from the marriage that you couldn’t provide.”

“Now you wait one minute,” Dale said. “A woman’s job is to be true to her husband...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, and according to your belief system, he’s supposed to provide for her and attend to her every need. Didn’t you say that your ex got married again?”

“Yes,” Dale grumbled.

“What does the new husband do for a living?”

“He’s a doctor.”

“So, he makes more than you ever did?”

Dale didn’t answer.

“I guess your ex-wife traded you in for a better Alpha, is that fair to say?”

Dale’s face went red and he took a long drink from his beer. The clear indication was that I was supposed to drop it, as if this wasn’t any of my business. That’s the code of conduct these self-identified “Alphas” live by. They feel they are allowed to pester you all they like, but the moment they feel a little heat you’re supposed to let it go.

“It’s kind of interesting,” I said. “You label me a Beta because my wife and I both work, and we both share equal duties when it comes to housework and the kids. You consider yourself an Alpha because you’re free to do as you please.”

Dale was too angry to respond.

“But tonight, I’m going to go home to my wife. You’re going to go home to sleep off another drunk on the couch in front of the television while your wife lies in bed with another man. I get to see my children every single day, and you get to see your children once a month.”

I finished my beer, and I looked at him. “You call me a Beta because I respect my wife as a human being, you call yourself an Alpha because you think you get to do whatever you want no matter how it makes anybody feel. But in the ABC’s of dating, I think you’ve selected the wrong letter for yourself. You can call me a Beta all you want, I honestly don’t have any problem with that, but Alpha isn’t the right word for you. I think your word is further down the alphabet.”

Then he clenched his fists and gave me the death stare and growled, “You better watch it. Don’t think I can’t beat you in a fight.”

And I said, “Yeah, just like you can take everyone in this bar. We both know the only thing you’re going to beat is yourself later on tonight. Now, if you excuse me, my beautiful wife is waiting for me at home.”

I got up and left and we haven’t spoken since.